The Jewish ghetto prayer:

I believe in the sun, when the sun is not shining;

I belive in love, though I do not feel it;

I believe in God, though God be silent...

Like the majority of people reading this, I woke up this morning to the news that result of the referendum on Britain's membership of the EU was to leave.  Unlike the Scottish Independnece Referendum, where I was genuinely torn and knew I'd be sad whatever the outcome, this time I knew fine well what I believed, and so I lay in bed struck dumb, beyond words, beyond tears, beyond comprehension.

My social media feeds, like those of most people, consist mainly of those with whom I have broadly similar views, but not entirely.  I do count as friends people who voted to leave, and people who were as conflicted about this referendum as I was about the other one.  Even so, Twitter and Facebook are, for me, seas of tears, oceans of expletives... and still, small voices urging calm, love, reconciliation.

I still bear the scars I gained trying to speak into the post Independence referendum result.  My (affirmed by many as) balanced and hopeful words somehow inflicted wounds I could not have anticipated on others I love.  All forgiven, long since, but I can't quite forget... The scars itch this morning as I sit here and, as I said on Twitter try "to be grown up and care for those God has called me to serve."

Today I feel a blend of fear and sadness... Not anger, people voted as they believed to be best, based on the information they received and their own experience. 

Perhaps, if I lived on a sink estate in a former industrial city in the middle of England or Wales and my family has been down-trodden for generations (and there are plenty for whom that is true) I would have felt differently than I do.

Almost certainly if I was an EU national who had left behind family and friends to offer my gifts and skills in the UK, I would feel betrayed and rejected.

If I was the age of my nieces and nephews, I would wonder what on earth the future held, and what education, employment and other opportunities have been lost.

And for the 'bumps' some friends right across these islands are carrying, one confirmed only a few days ago, what future now for their unborn babies?

I also fear the swift pointing-fingers and blaming... people of this age, or who were born in that place, or who voted the other way at the last general/whatever election...

What I do know, is that however I feel, however we feel, we cannot turn back the clock.  We have to move forward from this place. And how we do that is hugely significant.

I choose today to love my neighbour, as I love myself:

Those whose voting choices I disagree with

And those who voted as I did;

Those who now fear for their future,

Those who are angry and those struck-dumb.

I choose today to have faith and hope:

That goodness is stronger than evil,

That most people are more good than bad,

That nothing is beyond redemption.

Today,

With tears in my eyes,

And clinging on by my finger tips,

I reclaim the defiant convication,

"That all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well"

However you voted (if vote you were able) and however you feel about the result, may God's healing love be yours this day.

Shortly I will pick up my voting card and walk the short distance to the Polling Place (Station) and make my mark in pencil on a piece of paper that will play a miniscule part in shaping the future not only of this city, or this country, or this sovereign-state-as-defined-by-the-United-Nations, or this continent but, in some measure, this whole world.

As the archetypal floating voter, and possibly one of the most conflicted and torn-apart voters in the Scottish Independence referendum, it may surprise you to know that this one has, for me, been a no-brainer.  It's been a no-brainer since I researched and delivered a speech in a school debate at the tender age of 12 when we held a 'mock referendum' back in 1975.

It's not for me to tell anyone how to vote, but I think I do have the right to ask people to consider their motives in deciding and their attitudes to those with whom they disagree.

For me, this is not about what is "better for Scotland" as a poster I saw yesterday said, or what's "better for England" as I have seen on social media (as if Wales and Northern Ireland simply don't exist or don't matter, presumably) or what's "better for Britain" as I am sure I'd see on billboards south of Hadrian's wall.  It's not about me and mine - or at least, not only about me and mine.

Surely the guiding principle has to be the words that sum up the law and the prophets...

Love the Lord your God with all you heart, all your mind and all your strength; and love youur neighbour as you love yourself

So, if "better for Britain" or "better for England" or "better for Scotland" is the motivator, then it must also mean "better for Syria", "better for Israel-Palestine", "better for Greece", "better for Hungary"... "better for Europe" (and so on)

However you vote, do so thoughtfully, do so graciously, do so humbly, do so well

God of all nations

God beyond nationality

God of freedom

God of interdependence

As we vote this day

Grant us wisdom

Grant us courage

Grant us generosity

Grant us grace

And, above all,

Surround us and fill us with love

This coming Sunday we are sharing in a 'Songs of Praise' style service celebrating the life of our church. 

Twelve people respresenting twelve aspects of our life together have chosen hymns that, in some way or other, connect with their representative role.

I have twelve short Bible readings that I think sort of go with each theme.

And I have 12 other readings, some overtly sacred, some ostensibly secular, some serious, some humorous and so on.

So by way of a teaser among the authors and sources we will find...

Dancing Scarecrow (Clare McBeath and Tim Presswood)

Brother Lawrence

Michel Quoist

George W Stevens

John Calvin

Vernon Scannell

Masao Takenaka

Jennifer Dines

John O'Donohue

R S Thomas

So, if you want to know more, and happen to be in Glasgow on Sunday, you know where to find us... bring your singing voice and join us for a fun act of worship.

This morning I decided to begin my annual cull of the wardrobe... clothes that have not been worn in the last 12 months are reviewed and probably (but not always) set aside to go to a charity shop.  Perhaps it is the effect of having cleared out my Mum's flat, but this year I have felt able to be a lot more ruthless (not properly ruthless, but more so) and a lot of things I've kept out of sentimentality have found themselves consigned to the charity shop bag/box/heap and others to the bin.

The photo shows the collection of hair-slides and other hair things that had sat in a drawer for nearly six years and will never be needed again.  Why was I kepeing them?  Pure sentimentality, a reluctance to let go of the past perhaps, or maybe because many of them had associations with people or places or events.  In the end, I selected one to keep, a heavy, metal celtic knot that I hope can be converted into a brooch.

Today I also packed up the 14+ inch long plait that had been carefully stored in my underwear drawer and posted it off to The Little Princess Trust where it might find itself used to make a wig for a child experiencing hair loss.  It was a strange, slightly bittersweet moment when finally I sealed up the envelope and marched out of my front door to the Post Office to send it on its way.  Perhaps a tad hard on myself, there was a sense that the "properly grown-up" thing to have done would have been to donate the hair in September 2010.  But at that stage it was all too raw, I was too afraid of what tomorrow might bring, and somehow a long plait in a plastic bag in a knicker drawer was a source of comfort at a time when certainty, confidence and sense of identity were rapdily disappearing.  Today it was not such a big deal.  I held the plait one last time, inhaled its still sweet smell, packed it and sent it on its way.

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

One thing I have been doing today is photographing things; the prize-winning jumpers I knitted as a teenager that have lain unworn for at least a decade; the hair slides that for most of my adult life were coordinated to outfits and events; the plait and its donation form just before it was packed up.  The memories can be prompted by the pictures, the actual objects can be let go, freeing whoever, one day, has to clear out my clutter from wondering why on earth this woman had a collection of hair accessories or fairisle jumpers or whatever it may have been.

A useful lesson for me, I think.

Yesterday, a prominent Christian cited this quote from Bonhoeffer on social media...

“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”

I found this very challenging - in the light of the attrocity towards the LGBTQI+ community in Orlando and the murder in Yorkshire of a democratically elected MP, I have found myself lost for words.  Whilst there have been some powerful and eloquent responses, there have been as many, if not more, ill-considered, unhelpful and (especially in relation to events in Orlando) evil and vindictive responses. 

Silence, at least short term, if prompted by a sense of helplessness, impotence and, yes, fear of saying the wrong thing, doesn't seem to me to be intrinsically evil.  Less than ideal, perhaps.  Not what some feel is needed.  Imperfect.  Falling short.  Sinful if you must.  But evil?

Yet I remain challenged, deeply challenged.  I have a host of sayings and Bible verses whirling in my mind...

"A still tongue shows a wise head..."

"There is a time to speak and a time to keep silent..."

"Do you see someone who speaks in haste? There is more hope for a fool than them."

Perhaps I should have said or done something - but at the same time I am wary of empty symbols and hollow gestures.  How easy it is to change a profile picture on social media and then forget all about the issue.  How easy it is write some eloquent words and then move on to the next pressing topic.  How easy it would be to make emotional responses to emotive matters, blowing with the wind and never doing any more.

Perhaps, and I hope this is not an excuse, I am allowing myself to confuse "malign silence" with my own "bewildered quietness".  Perhaps I mistakenly read "inaction" when I am trying to "work within the systems to redeem". Perhaps quiet, sometimes subversive, hopefully transformative words and deeds, will never be enough.  Perhaps I should be bolder and  brasher and less fearful.  Perhaps it is my own insecurity that creates a sense of guilt or inadequacy at what feels to be an honest response.  Perhaps, too, I am far from alone.

God who speaks in the sound of silence

Christ who sleeps amidst the storm

Spirit who hovers over the chaos of this disordered world

Show me not only when, but how to speak

Not only when, but how to  keep silence

And into the aching void of grief of all who mourn

In Orlando and Yorkshire

In refugee camp and war zone

In public and in private

Pour your unconditional, unending, accepting, all-embracing love

Amen.